roots

I don’t really know where to begin. Things are kind of falling apart right now. I’m not sure when things took a downward turn, but it seems to be a plummet.

The root of my discontentment is not new. [M] being gone. Somehow, I had allowed myself to become complacent in the idea of [M] not having to travel through the holidays. Nothing was scheduled, and with him taking over his dick coworker’s workload, it seemed possible. No sooner did this thought take root in my brain was he on his way to Atlanta. Two days before Thanksgiving and now this week.

It’s nothing unbearable; I know this. But it never ends. He has traveled more since [Thornling] was born than in the three years we’ve lived in this hellhole. It is always the worst timing, and the lack of notice enrages me every time. It makes it impossible to make any plans, have any expectations.

The situation makes me miserable. I get so angry and frustrated. This makes things worse because I unintentionally take it all out on [M]. In the rational part of my brain, I know it is not his fault; I know it is not what he wants; I know he is just as unhappy if not more than I am. I know these things, yet he remains the outlet to my anger. I feel how I feel, and since I am not taking it out on [Thornling] or turning it in on myself, it ends up on him.

And it’s not fair. It ruins the time we do have together. Every time. But I don’t know how to change it. I had been doing well rolling with it, resigning myself to the situation. Somehow that all went away again. I am controlled by my unhappiness. It is consuming.

I feel trapped in this life that I don’t want, living in a place I hate, alone with our baby. I feel like [Thornling] and I have this whole separate life without [M]. We spend days and weeks without him; we go do everything without him; we travel without him. I want none of these things.

Him traveling takes me farther and farther from what I want. I don’t want him traveling, for one, but the longer he is gone, the less gets done in the basement, the farther we are from being able to change anything. It traps us in this perpetual circle. I am very aware of that fact, and it fuels my misery.

That is the root of my problem. The pervasive root.

Upon this root, we add layers. Layers of post partum depression and low self esteem. Layers of new motherhood stress and daily work life. Layers of somehow being broke without the purchases to show for it. Layers of a holiday weekend that included my dogs taking on a raccoon and me wrecking my car for no apparent reason.

Whenever I’m unhappy, there never seems to be a bottom, no matter how far I fall. This too shall pass; I just wish it would pass faster.

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